


Moment of Leisure

by Gemenied



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:56:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemenied/pseuds/Gemenied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time they end up in bed. Hers. - Companion piece to "Stolen Moment"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moment of Leisure

**Author's Note:**

> They'd be doing this all the time, if I owned anything.

**Moment of Leisure**

 

This time they end up in bed. Hers.

For a brief moment, she wonders if he's been to his own since Sarah, but there isn't time for this now as he pulls her shirt over her head. She's sat on the bed and he kneels on it, looming over her as they divest each other hurriedly of their clothes.

It's dark outside and in this room, but they've accidentally hit the switch in the hall as they fumbled up the stairs amidst kissing and groping. There's just enough light so he'll see the wrinkles and the sag and every other blemish, and the thought almost kills every notion of ardour. But he doesn't even take the time to look, too busy to touch, or simply not bothered by blemishes. There will be, are, wrinkles and grey hair and a paunch on him too.

"Stop thinking," he rasps against her ear, while his hands tug insistently on her trousers.

It's a command and naturally she bristles at it. It's also part of their game, so he doesn't allow her to cultivate the idea and pushes her back. Her trousers go at the same time, so that she's in barely anything anymore. Under different circumstances, this would make her feel uneasy or self-conscious, but he doesn't give her time for this either.

He never gives her time for anything, but as his fingers impatiently slip inside her knickers, she finds she doesn't care much. Feeling takes over and she arches into his touch.

In a way she needs him to take the initiative, to make sure that she doesn't think and dissect every word, every move and every look. She needs him to make her feel and take everything as it is, whole and overwhelming.

It's not his insistent touch, which is insistent and expert, making her wonder where he learned it all - if she weren't melting into each and every one of them. It's not in the weight of his body on hers, though that feels overwhelming and powerful and unbelievably secure. It's not in the thrusts that send jolts through her, touching her in places she had almost forgotten. It's not even in the warmth or smoothness of his skin, not even in the mixed scent of his after shave and much more base body fluids - even though that creates a seductive net in which she has been caught completely. In the end it isn't even in his voice, though his moans and groans and growls and shouts of her name give her a heady feeling of power.

No, it is in his eyes, the magnet of dark that draws her in when he looks at her, zapping her of strength to resist, spell binding her while he looms over her and reduces her world to touch and sound and feel.

They were always people who had words between them and the most overwhelming thing is that while they are caught in this carnality, she can read in his eyes, hold interminable conversations of truth and honesty in a way that they'd never do given words.

It's only the second time they've done this; how they got here is obscure and will probably remain so forever, but all that uncertainty has disappeared the moment her front door fell shut and his hands were inside her jacket.

He isn't a patient man, and even though they actually do have time this time, there's an urgency in him that transfers directly to her.

She pushes and pulls at his shirt, wanting to finally see his body, and at the same time attacks his neck with lips and teeth. He gasps and for a moment loses his focus, so she takes the advantage and flips them over.

His expression is a mix of amusement and shock that makes her grin. He might be powerful and overwhelming, but she isn't without her tricks either.

Their gazes lock for a moment, once again leading an entire bantering conversation, and then he falls back as if in invitation.

He isn't a man giving up his lead easily and for a moment she is surprised, but then, he's surprised her more than once already tonight, so why not stop thinking and just play it for all it is worth?

He is surprised to find himself on his back with a rather assertive woman on top of him, but he doesn't want to think, if possible not ever again, and he certainly doesn't want to have her do it.

This position affords him with a lot more manoeuvring room than it looks on first sight and he makes good use of it, revelling in her gasps, in the way her features contort. It's good as it is and he briefly thinks that he might like it this way a lot more than previously, simply for the fun it affords.

Release is still wanted and desperately needed, but this time it isn't as if they have to break a speed record lest they never get to do it. She's inventive and mischievous in her explorations and he's naked faster than he'd expected. He isn't shy or self-conscious, but somehow...

She gives him a grin as she goes for the kill and he almost shouts.

Never underestimate the quiet, methodical ones - they are always hiding something. It's a rule from his profession and this quiet methodical one with the glint in her eyes has definitely hidden a thing or two from him. And she had years to develop her strategy...while he developed his own.

They roll again, her bed dipping and pushing, so they become a tangle of limbs and torsos. He finds himself suddenly confronted with a part of her that's still covered and it hits him that even though he's already had her, she's never been naked around him.

The situation needs immediate rectification, so he goes to work with all the deftness he's acquired since being a bumbling 15 year old. If she's shocked at how quick it goes, she doesn't show it. Instead there's only a speculatively hooded gaze from her that he finds bloody sexy. He also has his hands full of heavy, pliant flesh and while he tries to decide whether to start left or right, he also desperately pushes aside the thought that death almost came...

Her perception is incredible and before he can develop the thought, she's taken the decision from him, pulling him up for a kiss.

It's aggressive and suggestive, all tongue, showing that she means business.

It's also a damn turn on, as if he needed any more.

Almost roughly, he pulls her against him, still kissing, and rolls them over. She's small and slight, almost breakable in comparison to him. It stops him short, in the middle of the lunge home.

Their gaze locks again, eternally connected now, as he tries to convey the feelings that rush through him. He wants to protect her, hold her, comfort her, cherish, worship. He wants to have her, possess her too.

She smiles, a hand coming up to cup his cheek. He leans into the touch, never breaking their gaze, and it is in that moment that he realizes that she already does...protect, hold, comfort, cherish, worship, have and possess.

There's one more, but it will be a damn long time before he gives in to the four letters, despite living them every second.

She knows that too, bloody perceptive woman.

Her expression changes from a knowing smirk into a tender smile. It's warm and reassuring without the smallest bit of judgement. She can wait.

But not too long, as she gives in to the imp she hides so carefully and rubs against him suggestively.

He groans, both in mock-annoyance and arousal, and the sappy moment is broken, giving way for much baser things. The last piece of clothing between them disappears with the distinct sound of ripping fabric, but neither of them cares much.

For the first time, there's absolutely nothing between them - no costume, no mask, no words. So many firsts are a little overwhelming and he stops again in his exploration of the curves and hollows of her body to deal with the momentous situation.

But her hands keep wandering, feathering in parts, squeezing in others. Her whole body seems to be moving, writhing, rubbing against him, encircling his frame. She doesn't allow him to bask long, doesn't want him to think any more than he'd like her to right now.

Thinking, dissecting, discussing can come later, much later.

Her hands squeeze his butt, bringing his attention firmly back to the task at hand. There's fire in her eyes. Blue and vibrant and magnetic, and he finds he can't resist the temptation. He never could.

So he doesn't.

He can feel her triumphant smirk against his neck, revels in how it is thrown away on a gasp when he enters her. The triumph doesn't last, for she squeezes around him, giving as good as she gets.

Things turn fast and frantic in a heartbeat, heat cumulating to a boil. It's wild and untamed, physically and emotionally; and it is completely overwhelming.

Their gasps and moans mingle in the stillness of the room, the air full of sex. She's a demanding lover given half the chance and when she forces his gaze to lock with hers, just when they reach the pinnacle, it's just as much for intensity as it is a challenge.

He's a man thriving on challenges, and as he drives himself home for the last time, exploding into that white-hot place without thought or anything besides a rush of feelings, he knows that life's become just that touch of interesting; he never dared to ask for himself.

She knows that too.

Bloody perceptive woman.


End file.
